The Twentieth Victim
by samaragaunt
Summary: On a case, Reid falls for a near-victim. What will happen? PS, I'm new. Be nice. Chapter 9 is up!
1. Chapter 1

The first thing I remember is the dark. The cold, dirty floor, in a room I was blind to. There was no light anywhere, not a crack in a wall. Nothing. The second thing I remember is myself. I felt my body, naked and dirty as the floor, excluding the clean trails on my cheeks from the tears. I hauled myself up from my collapsed pile into a sitting position.

I tried my best to examine myself- split lip, broken fingers on the right hand, sprained ankle- maybe broken, a long cut that started under my breast and crossed my stomach to end at my hip. It wasn't too deep, and had already begun to scab over. Lower down, I felt a fierce, painful ache, and what felt like many brutal bruises. How long had I been there?

I stood up and limped further into the dark, one arm shielding my wound, holding my healthy hand in front of me. I whimpered each time I had to step with my sprained ankle, and each movement tore at the cut a bit more. It started to bleed again. I clamped my arm over it tighter, trying to hold it closed through sheer will.

It seemed like years before I reached a wall. I rested against it, nearly crying with relief. I had accomplished my goal. Now, to find a door... there had to be one..... I leaned as I walked down the wall, feeling for a means out. Blood was flowing freely from the cut, and it was getting harder and harder to walk. I slumped more and more to the wall. Finally, I gave up. I sat on the floor, screaming, wordless. I was stuck here, dying, in a world with no light, no way to help myself. "AAAaaahhh! AAAAAAAAAAAAH! Help, help, please!" I was on the floor again, sobbing, miserable. Stuck.

I heard a creak over my whimpers, and the room was cut open by light. There was a door- I'd been checking the wrong wall- and there was a silhouette in the doorway. I shut up. If that was the person who did this, I wanted him to think I was dead. If it wasn't, the person would be able to see me, and would try to help me.

The shadow rushed toward me. "Oh no, oh no..." He put a hand to my neck, felt for a pulse. I took a big, shaking breath. My voice sounded raw. "Please... please help me...." I uncurled myself and showed my blood-covered torso. Funny enough, it made me feel safer, the blood did. Less naked. The man- I could tell by the voice he was male, a young man- sounded horrified, frantic. It was funny... it wasn't too bad... I'd be fine...

The man lifted me into his thin arms, hurried me to the door. I leaned into his chest. I took a deep breath of him. He smelled like cologne and paper and now, blood. It was comforting. I held onto him, my arms around his neck. "It will be okay, I promise. Nothing bad will happen, I won't hurt you." The man said, worried. "I... believe you. Don't leave me here...."

"I won't." It sounded like a promise. I let the light swallow us. I liked him. He'd help me.

***

I woke up in another strange place, but this one was better. There was a pillow under my head, and a mattress under my body. The place smelled familiar, the clean of a hospital, and a bit like something else, something warmer- cologne, maybe? Even with my eyes shut, I could see the light. My not-broken hand was being held by another hand, a bit warmer than mine. The thumb of the strange hand was rubbing little circles on my skin. It felt nice. I smiled.

The hand was surprised- it stopped moving for a second. Then another hand joined it, along with the man's voice. "Hello?"

I found my lips and licked them. They felt dry, as did my throat. I coughed out a "Hello" back, and opened my eyes.

The man from the light was handsome, in an unusual way. Reddish hair with a slight curl, longer than most men let their hair grow. Pale face, with prominent cheekbones, and hazel eyes with a lot of gold in them in this light. He was dressed like an Ivy League college student: skinny tie, button-down shirt underneath a maroon sweatervest. His pretty hair was rumpled, and there were circles underneath his eyes, which were focused on me. He looked happy yet concerned. "I'm Spencer Reid, what's your name?"

Thinking back, I must've been on some painkillers, because I didn't respond immediately. I was watching him, letting the sight of him sink into my memory. Something just popped out of my mouth, unbidden.

"Were you the man in the dark room? The one who got me out?" My voice was high, panicked-sounding, although my mind was relaxed.

"Um, yes, I was... are you feeling any better? Do you remember your name?" He sounded more nervous than me.

I coughed. "Yeah... a lot better. Where am I?"

"The hospital. They cleaned you up, put a cast on your hand and your ankle. But they need to know your name, to contact your parents."

"My name is Serena. Serena Ortiga. Don't bother calling my parents," I said. I felt my face hardening up at the thought of them.

He looked confused. "But... you need them to sign the papers, and don't you want them here?"

"I can sign my own damn paperwork. I'm emancipated. And no, I don't want them here." He cleared his throat, and he started trying to warm up my cold hand again. "Why?"

I narrowed my eyes. Which hurt, because of the bruises. "Because they're the reason I'm here."

I tried to explain, but my throat was too dry. Reid looked at me, wondering why I wasn't talking, and I looked pointedly at the pitcher of water. "Oh!" He got the point, and jumped from his chair to get me a drink. He spilled half the pitcher on himself in his eagerness, and turned pink in the face. I laughed weakly as he tried to dry off with one of the blankets from my bed.

Finally, Reid was dry, and had a full cup of water to offer me. I pushed up from the bed and froze halfway up. "What's wrong?" he asked.

I looked down at the bed, and then looked at him. "Why am I naked?"

He took a glance at the state of me, with the blanket barely covering me- both legs were exposed to the knee, and my chest was very nearly indecent. Once again, he turned bright red, but this time he wasn't alone.

"That's my fault, they didn't want to risk disturbing the stitches to get it on you with you passed out, so the nurses gave me a hospital gown to give you when you woke up, but I forgot because I needed to find out what happened, I'm sorry.' He scrambled to get the gown from the drawer where he'd stashed it, looking apologetic and awkward. It seemed like he'd forgotten I was a girl until I was embarrassed about being nude.

He held the johnny out to me, looking away. The room was private and all the curtains were drawn, but I couldn't get into it.

"Um... Mr. Reid?"

He was still turned away. "Uh, just call me Reid. Or Spencer. Whichever you prefer."

"Okay... Spencer? My hand, it's broken, and... I can't tie the strings." I had my arms through the sleeves, but I couldn't tie the back. All that was keeping it on was my outstretched arms. "I'm going to walk in front of you, and just tie it, please?"

"Sure." His eyes were still squeezed shut. I took my place in front of him. I fought the urge to cross my arms- the gown would fall off- but it was hard. This was awkward, so embarrassing.... my insides were squirming at the thought of being exposed this way.

I felt the slight tug of fabric as he quickly knotted the strings. "Too tight? Too loose?" I moved a bit to test it.

"Uh, a bit too tight." He untied it, pulled the strings a bit further away, and tied it up again. "Is that right?" I tested it again. "Yeah, that's fine. Thanks." I turned to limp back to my bed- just standing in the clunky cast was painful- but Spencer took hold of my shoulder. "Wait!"

My heart raced. "Let go!" I jerked away from his grip, smacked his arm away from me and backed away from him.

He put his arms out in a gesture of surrender. "Wait. Please, I'm sorry. I saw something on your back, it looked like someone wrote something on you. Can I look at it?" He looked very curious.

I took a deep breath, tried to calm down. _It was just him. Just him. Not a bad person, it was just this man, Spencer. He won't hurt you. If he tried, you could yell and someone would hear. It's okay. _I convinced myself to relax.

"I- yes, you can." In that moment I noticed something hitched to his belt- a holster. "But take off the gun and put it on the nightstand." He was about to protest. "No! Take it off or don't come near me."

Reid pulled it off, placed it by the bed. "Okay. There it is. Can I just examine your back, please? I won't touch you."

"No, that's fine, if you have to." I felt bad. It wasn't fair of me to be mean just because of my fear. I swallowed the tears I could feel coming, residue from him scaring me. I sat on the bed and sighed. "Okay, proceed with your examination, Doctor." The bed shifted as he sat down.

He pulled the back of the johnny open. "I am a doctor, actually. Not a medical one, but I have a doctorate."

"Oh." A thought struck me. "Where do you work?"

His long fingers gently probed my back. "The FBI, in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We think you may be the victim of a serial rapist and murderer we've been trying to track." His fingers paused. "You're the only one who's escaped alive."

Spencer's fingers remained paused on my back. His voice was a bit unsteady. "Here it is," he announced. "It's a letter. T, in fancy script." He sighed. "There's no doubt. He intended for you to be the twentieth."

"The twentieth? He's killed twenty people?! And no one's caught him.... Oh my God."

I felt him nod. "Well, no. Only nineteen. You're still alive, I believe." Spencer traced the T, slowly, lightly. I shivered and turned to him. Our faces were a finger's width away.

"Thank you. For saving me." I didn't say the words so much as I breathed them. Spencer smiled, and leaned towards me. "I liked saving you," he whispered into my ear. Then he pulled back and covered my hand with his. "You know no man can resist helping the damsel in distress. It's how humans are wired."

I smiled back at him. "Well, I'm glad you did."

A knock at the door interrupted our conversation. "Who is it?" Spencer said, still looking at me. "It's Hotch, open up," said the door.

He held up a finger- _one second _- and opened the door.

I screamed and clambered to the other side of the room, slammed my back against the wall. I was breathing hard, and my eyes were tearing up. "Get away from me!' I yelled.

"Stay right there," Spencer warned the stranger, and walked over to my side of the room. He crouched down next to me and put and arm around my shoulders. "It's okay, Serena. It's okay. This man won't come near you, I promise."

I nodded, gasping for breath. Spencer pulled me closer and rubbed my arm. "Now, what about Hotch scared you?"

"I-it's him. H-he hurt me, he d-d-did this--" I broke off. "But th-this one isn't b-b-blonde....?" I was so confused... it was the same man, no doubt, but with different hair.

The man who hurt you looked like Hotch, but blonde? Okay. What else was different about the man?" Spencer asked quietly.

"The other man... he wasn't wearing a suit, he was wearing.... " I shut my eyes, "blue jeans... and tennis shoes. A red t-shirt and a black belt, leather, real leather. He b-bragged about it...." Pushing closer to Spencer, I wiped off my tears. "He said he took it off one of the others. that's exactly what he said. 'I took it off one of the others'....". I buried my face in his chest. "I don't want to talk anymore," I said in a tiny voice.

"Okay, you don't have to. Just relax." Spencer rubbed my back, and I did begin to relax. Which, I thought drowsily (the short time I'd been awake was exhausting), was strange. I barely knew this person, but I felt nearly safe with him, at ease.

The man- Hotch, whatever that was short for- waked into the room and sat on the chair next to Spencer and spoke with him in a quiet voice. "What's her name?"

"Serenity Ortiga. I had Garcia search it- she's been missing for three days. She lives two blocks from where I found her."

"Do you know how old she is, who her parents are?"

"I don't know her age, but she doesn't like her parents. She's emancipated and said that her parents are the reason she's here. I think she meant they're the reason why she's in the hospital."

"Okay. I'm going to call Garcia and ask for this girls' statistics- age, parents, reason for emancipation." He spoke more quietly. I could barely hear him. "Stay with her. After what she's been through, she needs someone familiar to stay and keep her feeling safe." Hotch paused. "And that seems to be you."

Hotch got up and left, shutting the door behind himself. Spencer and I just stayed on the floor, huddled together.

After a while- I don't know how long- Spencer asked me what happened when Hotch walked in. "Hotch- Agent Hotchner- works with me. What made you think he was the man who hurt you?"

I thought. "Well... he looks exactly like him, apart from the hair. And he's tall, and strong-looking, and very serious.... like a man on a mission. Wouldn't someone who came to finish me off think he's on a mission? And he was strong... and tall. Just like Agent Hotchner."

Spencer nodded, obviously deep in thought. "You live with your parents, right?"

"Nope. I live with my grandma, but she died. That's why I was walking the street when..... when he found me. I was just thinking." I sighed. "I'll have nowhere set to go when I get out of the hospital. I guess I'll find something."

"Well, couldn't you live in your grandmother's house?" Spencer asked.

"I could, but I can't get a job that'll pay enough for me to keep it heated and have groceries. Plus, it'd be so lonely, living in that big house all by myself. Oh well. Something will come, I hope."

Spencer gave me a look. "Right after you're out of the hospital, you'll stay with me- you're a witness for the case. The team can't risk you getting killed or ending up on the streets. And after that, we can take it as it comes."

I was stunned. This person who barely knows me was willing to give up their privacy to keep me safe. It was heartwarming, and that's exactly how it made me feel. Warm inside. And there was a strange tingle down my spine as he looked at me again with a smile. I wondered what his house would be like- or would it even be a house? maybe it'd be an apartment, or a dorm room. He looked like the type to be doing night college while working at the FBI. Or maybe he still lived with a relative.

"That would be great." I gave him the biggest smile I could without my lip splitting again. I looked at the clock on the wall- 9:48. "Is it daytime or night?"

Spencer absentmindedly checked his watch. "Uh, 9:48 at night."

I didn't want him to go. I wanted him near me, but he must've been up for hours waiting for me to get up. The circles under his eyes were dark, and I had the sense that he was one of those people who needed to be reminded to sleep, and to eat, so lost in their thoughts they could get. "You should go home. You look tired."

He stood up and pulled me up with him. "What? No, I've got orders to stay here until you're out. For the next few weeks, I'm going to be your shadow."

I tried to ignore the cheer I felt at the thought of staying with him for weeks. "Anyway, you should get some sleep. I'll ask one of the nurses for a cot, if you want."

He shook his head. "No, someone could sneak in." The only space in the room for a cot to fit was on the other side of my bed, the side further from the door. "I'll sleep in the chair."

"No, you will not. I've been sleeping for ages. Sleep in the bed, I'll sit on the end of it. If I hear anything, I'll wake you up."

He gave me a weird look, but all he asked was "What will you do while I sleep?" He seemed to think it was strange that I gave up the bed. _What's the point of a bed if you're not sleeping? _I thought, grouchy. It was the most reasonable solution.

I surveyed the room. No TV, since it looked like a rather poor hospital. No books.... not even prints on the walls. Absolutely noting to do... until I spotted his bag. "Can I use your laptop?"

"Sure." He took it out of its case and handed it to me, then kicked off his shoes and laid on the bed, on his side. I plopped onto the end and looked at his feet.

"Your socks don't match!" I smiled with surprise. One was yellow with black polka dots, and the other was striped with black, gray, and maroon. I glanced up at his face, still grinning. "I haven't worn matching socks since I was in fifth grade."

He simply smiled. Now that his head was on the white pillow, the darkness under his eyes was even more emphasized. He looked dead tired. I opened the laptop- "Wait."

Spencer looked up. I picked up the holster and gun from the nightstand and hitched it to his belt, then went straight back to the computer. I checked the reviews on the amateur stories I'd posted on a few websites, checked my email, looked on a few news websites. Once Spencer was asleep, I even unearthed a pair of headphones from his bag (yes, I know, I shouldn't have gone through his stuff. But I needed headphones so I wouldn't wake him up, and I found his badge, along with a few thick paperback books, sci-fi novels. Both put my mind at ease a little) so that I could listen to some of my favorite songs on YouTube.

I put the headphones back in his bag and placed the laptop on the floor, playing a list of Beethoven and Chopin nocturnes on repeat. I took the glass pitcher of water and put it flush against the door, to act as a crashing alarm if anyone wanted to enter. I took the sedative a nurse had offered me, after knocking on the door. Curling up at the foot of the bed, my back to Spencer, I let the soft piano coerce me into sleep.

Strange things had happened in my sleep.

I woke up with arms, Spencer's arms, wrapped tight around me, and mine were keeping his there. His body was curved to fit around mine, which wasn't the tense ball of nerves it'd been the time before. I was stretched out, one leg bent. In my sleepy, hazy state, I didn't move. I didn't even think to move. This felt right; familiar, even. I made a little noise and snuggled closer to his chest. Asleep, he responded only by pushing forward, to me. The nocturnes were still playing. Through the curtains, the hallway was brighter than it had been the night before. I assumed that meant it was daytime. I carefully unwound Spencer's arm from me and checked the watch- 8:02 am. I bet Reid had to be up by now, and I looked at the nightstand. There was a small black cell phone on it. grabbed it and checked it- 4 N E W V O I C E M E S S A G E S. I sighed, putting the phone back down, as I took hold of Spencer's hand. I shook it.

Nothing happened. He laid there, eyes shut. I shook his shoulder.... Still nothing. I thought for a minute, then... I pulled his hair, hard.

He jumped and rubbed his head, with one arm still around me. "Ow! What was that for?!" He looked completely unsurprised to have an arm around me.

"Spencer, it's eight in the morning, and you have four messages on your phone. Already." If Spencer was okay with being close to me, then I was okay with it too. More than okay. Once I wasn't in that dreamy half-sleep, I felt like I'd had ten cups of coffee. Just from his touch. Wow.

He ran a hand through his hair and picked up the phone. After he listened to the messages, he got up from the bed and began packing the bag up. "You like nocturnes?"

"Uh, yeah, they help me sleep. What's happening?"

He slung the strap of the bag over his shoulder. "We're going to sign you out, then JJ's going to pick us up and lend you some real clothes, then she'll bring us to the hotel, we'll change and head to Quantico."

I was confused. "Isn't Quantico in Virginia? We're in New York City now. Unless I'm really a total failure at geography, we need plane tickets to get there in any sort of good time."

Spencer put his arm around my waist as I limped and nearly fell on the way to the door. I leaned gratefully against him. "The FBI has a jet that will take us. See, all of us were here to investigate the serial.... cases that were going on here. But now that we have you, we can review the case in Virginia. Hotch and Prentiss will stay here, because we believe the UnSub- Unidentified Subject- is still in this state."

I nodded. Of course the FBI would have a jet. Why did I expect anything else? Some people don't have healthcare, or food, or a home, but the FBI has a whole fleet of private jets, I'd bet. Only in America.

We limped me to the nearest nurse's station, where I signed a ridiculous amount of paperwork after having an even dumber argument with a nurse as to my state of emancipation, which only ended when Spencer, mumbling something about "hating to do this", pulled out his badge and "vouched" for me. Then we limped to an elevator, limped to the doors, and limped out the hospital to what I assumed was JJ's car. Whoever JJ was. His girlfriend? His wife?

It was a large, unmarked black van, the back of which was where Spencer and I sat. The driver of the car was a young, pretty blonde woman, who introduced herself as Agent Jennifer Jareau. "I work with Spencer. Call me JJ. Oh!" She looked like she'd just remembered something. "Here," she handed me a plastic shopping bag, "these are for you. I hope they fit! You're taller than me." I smiled at her, nervously. "Um, thank you. I really can't wait to get into real clothes again." JJ pulled out of the parking lot and began to drive.

Spencer leaned over and whispered to me. "JJ is on the team. She organizes press conferences, deals with media relations in addition to her field work. She's very good at her job, and she'll be around us most of the time, since she's the one on the team I'm closest to."

He saw the look on my face and seemed to read my mind. "JJ's like a sister to me. Other than her, we'll spend a lot of time with Morgan, and Garcia. I think you'll like her."

I was relieved. I did not like the idea of Spencer having a girlfriend... which, again, was a weird unbidden thought that I considered I'd best keep private. _I am Spencer's job_, I told myself._ Once this is over, I'm just a past case._ It was true. I was still sad.

"What makes you think I'll like her?" I asked Spencer saucily. I wanted his attention.

He grinned. "The reaction to my socks last night." JJ looked at me questioningly through the rearview mirror. "f you like mismatched socks, you'll like Garcia."

JJ laughed in the front seat. "Just wait until she hears you said that!" She pulled out her phone and flipped it open, started scrolling through the contacts. "Garcia... G... G... G..."

Reid lunged from his seat and tried to grab the phone. "No, JJ, please don't! Come on, JJ, you know she'll kill me!"

I laughed and nearly split my stitches. "Wow, Spencer scared, didn't think I'd see that!" I kept laughing as he kept reaching for the phone. "Ooh, I found her!" JJ said. "Hmmm, should I call her or send her a text?" she teased as she held the phone to far forward for Spencer to reach.

This went on for a few minutes more. Finally I broke into their feuding. "Aw, come on. You can't tell Garcia anything unless Spencer's wrong! Otherwise it's just not fair."

JJ sighed theatrically. "Oh well, I guess you're right." She made a show of putting the phone away. "But if you don't like Garcia...."- she looked threateningly at Spencer- "she _will_ be hearing that you think she's a pair of mismatched socks."

"I don't _think_ she's a pair of mismatched socks, I think she's_ like_ a pair of mismatched socks, there is a difference...." Spencer mumbled, knowing he'd lost.

I nudged him with my shoulder. "Hey, I think I'll like her. Especially if _you're_ this scared of her."

He snuck an arm around my waist, shooting sneaky glances at JJ through the rearview mirror to be sure she couldn't see. He whispered into my ear again. "Why can I do this, but you can't even look the male nurses in the eye?" Reid was obviously confused.

I thought. "Good question. Hmm...... Well, I know you better than them. I know your name. And since I realized what- what happened to me, you've been touching me. Remember, you carried me out of-" I swallowed- "that dark place, and you were holding my hand when I woke up." I cocked my head to the side. "I'm used to it, I guess. And you smell good."

My voice rose a bit towards the end, and I was pretty sure JJ heard me. I leaned in anyways, sniffed his neck. Sleep, day-old cologne, paper and hospital soap. In that moment, I was sure it was the best scent in the world. When I saw him look up- toward the rearview mirror- I knew he saw the other agent watching us. I saw him smile at her, then turn that sight to me. Spencer started talking to JJ while our gazes were locked. "So, JJ, now you know."

She cleared her throat. "Reid. Isn't that... inappropriate? While she's in the case?"

I burst in. "Technically, no. It's inadvisable, but since I'm seventeen, it's legal. Plus, I... trust him."

He leaned towards her. "I'm not going to tell anyone about this. JJ, this has to be a secret. If Hotch finds out, he'll take me off the case, and then she can't stay with me. And I don't think she should be put through that."

JJ was obviously thinking hard as she drove into the hotel parking lot. She sighed. "I don't think you should do this, Reid. But I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Thank you, thank you so much!" I was so relieved. There would only be one female available for me to stay with, and chances were I wouldn't be able to... and I wouldn't be able to handle being with any man other than Spencer.

We got out of the car, and Spencer took his thick jacket out of the bag and handed it to me. "I should've thought of this earlier," he said as he put it on me. I felt so much better with it on. It hung to midthigh on me- a few inches less than the johnny- and I felt safer with it on. It was warm and lined with something silky.

There were men in the parking lot, walking to and from the hotel. Some were with women, some weren't, but all of them looked at me in my half-dressed state and were thinking what I knew they must be. Two pretty girls, one guy, mid-day. I hated the looks in their eyes as they took me in, hated the thoughts going through their heads. Our little threesome walked to the doors as fast as we could, with my leg.

The hotel was a nice one. No marble floors, but no cigarette stains on the walls. Spencer hurried me to the elevators, and I wondered if he'd always been so nervous in public, or if it was an FBI thing. Secrecy and protection of the public, that whole deal. Either way, we reached the room in record time. JJ slid her key card and the door unlocked.

There were three bedrooms in the suite, with two beds in each. JJ headed to the second bathroom for a quick shower, while Spencer and I went to one of the bedrooms. I assumed Spencer shared it with someone, because the table by one bed had five books on it, none of them thin. One of them was the sequel to one I'd seen in his bag the night before. I put the bag of clothes on the bed and sat, rubbed my leg above the short cast.

"So, what did JJ give you to wear?" Reid asked.

I emptied the bag onto the bed. There was a black dress with a green, blue and white pattern. A pair of black leggings, white socks, and little black slip ons, half a size too big. It all looked like it would fit. At the bottom of a bag, there was brand-new underwear. I nearly cried, it was so thoughtful. I couldn't wait to feel like a real, properly dressed person again.

I looked at Spencer and blushed. "Uh, so... can you help me with this?" I looked down, embarrassed. Needing help to get dressed wasn't so embarrassing in the hospital- after all, that's where people go when they're hurt and need help with the little things- but being alone in a hotel room was a whole different animal.

He eased his coat off me, and started untying the strings of the johnny. "It's okay, it's okay," he said soothingly when I started shaking. The feel of my skin exposed to the air was not one I had fond memories of.

"It's untied," he told me, then put the clothing in the bathroom. "Just knock if you need any help." Spencer kept his eyes averted as I walked to the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

There were no windows in the bathroom. I checked behind the shower curtain and in the closet- just in case. I had to tear the package of underwear open with my teeth. It all fit, thank God, but I couldn't hook the bra.

I panicked. I was in less than a hospital gown, and I needed help to finish getting my clothes all on. My hands got clammy when I thought of anyone coming in here- even Spencer. I couldn't leave half-clothed but couldn't let anyone in. I took a few deep breaths. In, out. In, out_. I won't be hurt, I won't be hurt_. Then I had a stroke of brilliance and checked the closet again. There it was- a curtain rod! Not as good as a knife, but a weapon if necessary. It could do if I could do it.

I knocked on the door.

Spencer walked in, gaze to the floor. "What do you need help with?"

I eyed the rod, next to the shower where I'd stashed it. Easily within arm's reach. "Could you hook my bra?" I kept my eyes trained on him, and he blushed. "I'll try, but no guarantees."

I spun away from him. I couldn't bear to see his eyes on me. He was Spencer, but he was still a man, and I had to pretend that this wasn't happening. It was over in a moment.

"Thank you. Please go."

He left.

It was that easy. Nothing happened.

Not a single thing. I shouldn't have worried. Obviously, I wasn't wrong to trust him. I was kinda proud of him, for not pushing it at all. He just did what I asked and left, and I knew he was interested. Why else would he be risking his job to be.... with me this way? The way he'd seemed to convey to JJ?

I pushed thinking aside in favor of dressing. I pulled the dress over my head and yanked the leggings over my cast. I slipped on the socks and shoes, then washed my hair in the sink with the little hotel toiletries. I waltzed out of the bathroom feeling much better. Spencer was sitting on the bed, reading a book. When I came in, he looked up, and I twirled for him with a smile. "Do you like it?" The dress was knee-length, but fit snugly, with a loosely flaring skirt. It was very pretty.

He stood and smiled back at me. "I think it looks great." I walked to him and looked straight in his golden-brown eyes. I reached for his hand.

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

"I understand." He looked into my eyes, asking permission. "This is okay, right?" I nodded, slowly, biting my lip. He leaned down, placed a shy kiss where my neck and shoulder met. A shock- like lightning- shot through me, from his lips to my spine, and I nearly dropped to the floor. I grabbed his shirt to break my fall, and he staggered from the pull. The look on his face switched from surprise to a smile. From his shirt, he took hold of my hands, pulled me up onto my own feet. Then I breathed in deeply, and placed my lips on his.

It was perfect. I felt warm from my head to my toes, and I shut my eyes. His lips fit just right with mine, and my heart beat faster. He put his arms around me and pulled me close, and I knew- for sure- that this man would never hurt me. He handled me like glass. The kiss deepened, our lips moving in tandem, and I reached beneath his shirt and felt the warm, smooth skin of his back. He moved a hand to run his fingers through my hair.

A knock at the door interrupted us. Spencer looked at me apologetically, and I unwrapped myself from him to answer the knock. "Hi, JJ. We're ready to go." I'm sure we made quite the picture of suspicion, as my hair was mussed and Reid's shirt was wrinkled, not to mention the blush of his face. I had a better poker face, but I bet I was still a bit colored from the intense moment. Spencer tossed me the jacket and picked up the bag. JJ had a backpack over her shoulders and the car keys in her hand as she flipped me a sly smile. As we left the suite, she whispered to me. "We've been taking bets on how long it'd be till Spencer got himself a girlfriend. Emily owes me twenty now, since she said it wouldn't happen before next year."

"Well," I whispered back, "I don't know..... a kiss doesn't have to mean anything..."

She chuckled. "It does for Reid. He never does anything he's not serious about." JJ watched me smile, no doubt proud of making me feel better.

Spencer caught up to us just as we reached the elevator. "So, JJ, you're going to tell Garcia, aren't you?" He curled and arm around me as the elevator began it's descent.

"Of course! It's not like she wouldn't find out anyway. You know how she can read this kind of thing. Plus," she said, eyeing Spencer's arm, "you don't seem to be too intent on keeping it secret."

"Actually, relatively steady amounts of physical contact have been proven to improve the rate of healing from psychiatric trauma by seventy percent in females. And Hotch can also see that she's okay with it."

More than okay with it, as a matter of fact. But I kept my mouth shut and beamed. "Also, her leg.... the hospital didn't give her crutches, so she'll need help going up and down stairs."

JJ shook her head. "That's fine. Just make sure no one sees you two getting more touchy-feely than 'medically' necessary. And don't lose your guard just because Garcia and I will know. You know how Emily's a stickler for the rules."

Spencer checked out in the lobby, and we made out way back to the truck. He and JJ bantered on the ride to the airport, but I wasn't listening. I looked at the splints on my fingers, the mottled color of the fingertips that peeked out. The doctor had told me that I'd regain most of the function of my hand after months of physical therapy. My ankle would be fine in a month or two, and it would take two to four weeks for my stomach to heal. I would always have a thick pink scar. I'd never wear a bikini without getting weird looks. My face, as I'd seen in the mirror, was peppered with swollen blue bruises. The rape kit at the hospital would be sent to the FBI next week. I couldn't even have a man look at me in my underwear without thinking I may have to kill him to stay safe.

And I was one of the lucky ones.


	2. Chapter 2

The jet was small but comfortable, with cozy white seats and faux-wood walls in the cabin. I'd stuck the folded-up hospital johnny in the plastic shopping bag. It really was the only thing I had to call my own.

JJ had immediately headed for the seat closes to the cockpit, while Reid sat across the aisle from her. He patted the seat next to him when I looked around, trying to figure out where to sit. _Aren't you getting a bit too dependent on him? _spoke a little voice in the back of my mind. _After all, you know what people you trust do to you. They leave you, betray you, hurt you, die. They leave you all alone, with no one but yourself to rely on. _I pushed the thought away. Even if this didn't work, I'd find something. I always had, hadn't I? I was the world's best escape artist. I always found a way out. _Except for when it counted most. _That line was accompanied by the memory of the dark room and the feel of my own blood clothing me. Then a door opening, light shining where there was none.

I snapped out of my inner tete-a-tete and sat next to him. From her backpack, JJ pulled a thick manilla folder emblazoned with a logo I couldn't see, and a thin black pen. She flipped through the folder, and, finding the page she'd wanted, began to read. Every now and then, she wrote a few words in or crossed something out. I could see that this was methodical work that she was used to. She leaned towards the page and occasionally made a little snort, always followed by a cross-out. It was fascinating, the way her thoughts played out across her face. When she was confused, she'd furrow her brow and continue reading. As soon as the fact that'd confused her was explained, she'd smile and give a small nod. Everything seemed to surprise her, to capture her interest fully. If something seemed far-fetched, she'd raise a brow and make a small notation. I spent a good twenty minutes, just watching her.

Spencer, on the other hand, had taken a few stapled pages out of the folder and was reading them and comparing them to some notes he'd taken in a small black book the night before. I was tempted to comment on that, but I didn't. The two of them periodically interrupted each other with questions.

I'd never been in a plane before, so I amused myself by staring out the window, watching entire cities disappear beneath clouds. We dove into the puffs, and the view became fluffs of white, some thick and dark, some light and wispy. Our plane came through on the other side of the clouds to blind me with the brightest, purest sunshine I'd ever seen. It was amazing.

Eventually, we had to land, and I was disappointed. Although Virginia was sunny and bright, unlike the damp dark of New York, I wanted the flight to go on forever. JJ snapped out of her focus, and gazed around with the dazed look of someone who'd been nearly asleep. She reorganized the folder quickly, taking the pages Spencer had grabbed, and stashed it in her backpack. All three of us stretched and exited the plane.

It was easily twenty degrees warmer in Virginia. I didn't need Spencer's jacket. The light breeze made the skirt of the borrowed dress flutter around my legs, made me smile. The air strip was relatively small, and there were three other identical jets lined up.

Once again, we all piled into a black van, but this time it was comfortably silent. All of us were thinking- me about the weather and Spencer, Spencer about I don't know what, and JJ probably considering the contents of the file she'd been reading. The drive was very short. We pulled around to the back of a large building and shuffled into the lobby. Then Reid led the way through a maze of hallways, and we ended up in an office. It looked down onto a bullpen of desks, each one manned by a professionally dressed agent. Some were taking calls, some reading files identical to the one in JJ's backpack, some talking to each other. It was business as usual for them. For me, it was incredibly weird. I'd never been in an office in my life, excluding the principal's and my lawyer's.

In the office, there was a large, round table surrounded by comfortable rolling chairs. There was a whiteboard, a corkboard, and a projector screen on each of three walls. The other wall was entirely glass, with a glass door. A tall, handsome man entered. He had coffee-colored skin and looked like a young war hero- brave and proud, with an easy smile. "So you must be the lovely lady I've been hearing so much about."

I nodded and raised my eyebrow. "You must be the lady's man I've been hearing so much about. Agent Morgan, right?"

He laughed, grinning wider. "I guess I am. You're Miss Ortiga?"

"I am. Call me Sera." I turned to Spencer and JJ. "That goes for you two, too."

"Look at this little lady, bossing us FBI agents around! Well, I guess I got no choice. Come on, sit down, Sera." He gestured to the seat between Reid and JJ, and I sat. He sat across the table from us. I gripped Spencer's hand under the table. Agent Morgan seemed nice enough, but he still made me nervous.

"I bet Reid told you why you're here?"

I gulped. "Uh, yes. I'm the only surviving victim of some psycho you've been tracking, right?"

He nodded. "Yes. We want to catch this guy alive and put him in jail for the rest of his miserable life. The only way we can do this is if you help us. So we gotta keep you safe, and trust me, Sera, there is no place safer than the FBI." Agent Morgan looked me in the eyes. "Nothing can hurt you here, okay? We'll keep this bastard from ever hurting anyone again."

I nodded and looked at my lap. I hoped, more than anything, that this man was right. "How can I help?"

The agent smiled again. "All you have to do is tell us what happened. Then we'll find this guy, and you just have to tell the judge what happened, and he'll get what he deserves. But you gotta stay with us for a little while, because this guy's gonna want to finish what he started."

I tried to ignore what that last bit meant. "Spencer has what happened written down," I mumbled, looking at Spencer shyly. "Um, yes, I do," he said, fumbling through his pockets for the notebook. I turned to JJ. "Is he always like this?"

She laughed a little as she answered. "Yeah, pretty much. For someone so brilliant, he's pretty scatterbrained." Morgan and Spencer were looking over the notebook. "Brilliant?" I asked, curious.

"Yeah, brilliant. He's got a really high IQ- nearly 200- and he got his doctorate a year or two ago, when he was still a teenager." She looked at him with obvious admiration when she said this, as did I. I thought getting bumped up two grades in high school was big, but this.... wow.

"Sera," Morgan called. "Can you come over here?" I got up and walked to where he and Spencer were sitting. "Yes?"

"Can you just read through what Spencer wrote, and make sure he got it all down? If something's wrong, just fix it, and add anything that's not there."

I took the notebook and pen from Morgan's hand and began to page through the notebook. Spencer had it all right- Tall caucasian male, strong, blonde hair, dark eyes, red t-shirt, black leather belt (allegedly taken from victim), blue jeans, tennis shoes. I added a bit- _looked like Agent Hotchner. White tennis shoes with black laces. Very deep voice. Scar in the shape of a cross on left shoulder. Silver wedding band._

"That's it," I said, putting down the pen and shutting my eyes. I took a few deep breaths. I didn't want to remember; I wanted to pretend it never happened.

The agents waited until I opened my eyes to ask anything else. Spencer looked at me, concerned, and reached across the table for my hand. I let him, and he spoke in a soft voice. "Sera, did he say anything to you? Besides the comment about the belt?"

I squeezed my eyes shut again, searched through my mind as Spencer held my hand. "He told me his name was Jonas Vickers. He found me, when I'd fallen over a crack in the sidewalk and broke my ankle. He said he'd bring me to the hospital, but he didn't... and he said I shouldn't trust strangers. He said it was too bad for me that he wasn't a faggot who could've left me alone, because I was too pretty for a 'real' man to leave alone. And then he told me about the belt, when he was undoing it. Then.... he did all of it. And left me there. And you found me." I was crying by then, tears streaming down my painfully pulsing face.

Spencer spoke. "It's not your fault, Sera. It's not your fault. This man did what he did because he's psychotic, not because of you. After all, some psychoses are completely physiological, stemming from actual defects in the tissue formations of the brain. Technically, it's not his fault either, but the fault of his genetics-"

"B-b-but he did! He said it was my fault, he said that gay people were an abomination, and that I shouldn't be helping them... He had the articles! He had all of the articles I wrote! He showed them to me and said they were why I had to die, because anyone helping fags were just as bad as them!"

"You wrote articles?" Morgan's voice asked.

I wiped my eyes. "Yes, I write articles for newspapers. Most of them are about gay rights, since my parents, my mother and my other mother, are together. They're the reason I write freelance since I graduated. They always told me to follow my passion, and I always thought they should be able to be together for real, married." I finished wiping the tears from my face. "That's why this happened. If I'd just gone to law school like my grandmother wanted me to, I wouldn't be here now." I shot a guilty glance at Spencer. I hoped he'd understand that I didn't want to be here, but I did want to be with him; he was the only good thing that had come of this man's 'mission'. If I could've changed the past and brought us together in some other way, I would've. But this was real life, and I had to take Doctor Spencer Reid as the silver lining of the darkest cloud I'd ever seen.

***

The small conference in the office was over, and JJ had gone to fetch Garcia. Spencer and I were at the coffee machine in a small corner of the bustling, but not chaotic, bullpen below.

"You were brave in there, you know," Spencer told me, handing me a hot cup of coffee. "That must have been extremely hard for you. Sixty-four percent of all females between the ages of eleven and twenty who have been sexually assaulted can't bring themselves to tell anyone about the attack."

I smiled weakly. Obviously, he was trying to make me feel better, but he needed to learn the fine art of conversation. That did not include spouting off statistics at any given point. "I just want this man gone. Dead, wiped off the face of the planet, trapped in a cell forever, I don't care. I want him gone."

He gave me a solemn nod. "The whole team's trying their hardest to make that happen. And you have already helped a lot."

JJ picked that moment to rush up to us, smiling, dragging a curvy blonde with thick glasses behind her. "Sera, this is Penelope Garcia, Garica, this is Sera. Play nice. I have paperwork to do." She exited.

I stuck out my hand. "Hi, Ms. Garcia, it's nice to meet you."

Garcia was dressed in a very colorful outfit. Red and pink striped skirt, bright red shirt, hot pink cardigan and plenty of sparkly clips in her hair. Spencer was right, if anyone could personify a pair of mismatched socks, it was her. She knocked my hand away and hugged me- that gave me a bit of a surprise. Spencer shot me an apologetic look. _She's always like this,_ he mouthed.

Garcia used the hug to whisper conspiratorially to me. "So, I hear you're the lucky lady who finally snagged the gorgeous young genius-man, here? Congratulations. Many have tried and failed."

I grinned at her as she pulled away from me. "Yeah, I guess I have."

"Well, I'm glad you did. And you can call me Garcia, or Penny, or Tech Goddess of the East." She bowed with a flourish as she said this, and I laughed. These people had a sense of humour, unlike the cops I was used to. "You've met my bronze god, Morgan, right?" I nodded. "So that's Hotch, Reid, Morgan, JJ, and me.... all you have left is Rossi and Emily! And I am so going to be there for that." She took a step closer to the pair of us and winked. "I want to see of they can puzzle out this delicious little secret thang you two have going on."

A cell phone beeped, and Garcia answered it. "Oracle of All Things Computerized, here." She listened for a moment, then crooked her finger at us in a "come along" gesture. Spencer took his place next to me and helped me up the stairs.

As we walked into here dark office, she snapped the phone shut. "Come into my lair." Garcia sat at the one chair in front of the wall of computer screens. She jiggled the mouse, and all of them came to life with the same thing: An FBI logo on a yellow background. "Watch this," she said, and pulled up a black window. "Ask me anything you want to know," she said, grinning at me. I couldn't think of anything, and I shrugged. "Fine." She pouted, turning to Spencer. "Genius Boy, give me a question, any question. Something Little Miss here could verify, maybe?"

Spencer pondered that for a moment. "Find me one Serena Ortiga's middle name."

"Oh, no....." I moaned piteously. "No, please, Garcia, anything but that...." But she was already typing.

"Aha! Here it is. You ready, Reid?" I buried my face in my hands as he nodded. I knew what was coming. "Ethel!" Spencer said, surprised.

I sighed and uncovered my face. "Yeah, Ethel. It was my biological grandmother's name."

Garcia was trying not to laugh. So was Spencer.

"Fine! Laugh at me. In the meantime, I'm going to go do something useful." I tried to stomp out of the office, but my limp really didn't give it the look I was going for, and they both burst out laughing. I kept hobbling to somewhere else, until I got to the stairs. I glared at the two of them, watching me from the end of the hallway. Then I glared at the stairs, frustrated, arms crossed. I glared back at Spencer, who was coming towards me, still grinning like an idiot. As soon as he wrapped an arm around my waist, I told him "Once you help me down the stairs, I'm never talking to you again. Or Garcia. Ever. I swear to God." He just laughed.

Being stuck touching someone who really annoyed me made the trip downstairs seem to last hours. My lips were pinched together the whole time, whereas Spencer seemed to find the whole situation hilarious. Once the trip was over, I hobbled as far away from him as I could. "Aw, come on, it's not that bad!" he yelled from across the room. I turned my back to him, faced the wall and took a sip of coffee, which did NOT have enough sugar in it.

Next thing I knew, he was right next to me. "I'm sorry if I offended you," he said.

I sighed. "It's okay. I'm way too sensitive." I played with the cup in my hand. "This coffee's wicked bitter."

"I agree. That's why I disguise the taste with sugar.... way too much sugar." He took the cup from me and faced the coffee area. A minute later, he turned back to me, replacing the plastic lid off the cup. "Here, try it now," he offered.

I took a sip. It was just the way I liked it- filled with so much cream and sugar that it barely counted as coffee anymore. I let myself revel in the deliciousness. "Mmm," I nearly moaned, leaning back and shutting my eyes. "Perfect."

"Really?" He took the cup from my hand and drank, quick as a blink. Wiping off his mouth with one hand, he handed back the cup with a thrilled grin and light pink to his cheeks, almost like he was surprised he'd done it. It was cute. "Come on, coffee thief. Help me back to Garcia's office. I have a few things to ask her."

He curled an arm around me obediently. Than, halfway upstairs, he gave my hip a few quick squeezes. I felt my face flush, and I gaped at him. All I saw was that shyly proud smile.

(JJ's POV)

Wow. Garcia had gotten a lot across in those few moments she'd had alone with Reid. I had thought she'd give him a few tips, but nothing like this. He was smooth, suave even. Which was not the Reid I knew. But after he tried out Garcia's advice, he blushed like a teenager. There it was, the shyness he almost always covered with facts.

The two exchanged a few words, Reid's smile never leaving his face. He really liked this girl. And it was obvious that she was just as into him, sweetly smiling at him as he flirted. It just got him more flustered. It had to be the cutest thing I'd ever seen.

I nudged Morgan with my elbow and pointed at the pair. "Hey, check this out." They were deep in conversation on the stairwell, and both of them had eyes only for each other. Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Looks like Pretty Boy finally found himself a Pretty Girl."

We watched Reid and Sera waltz awkwardly to Garcia's office, closer than they should have been. And apparently, for them, it was just right.

(And back to Sera.)

There were a few hours we killed in Garcia's office, making jokes and thoroughly abusing her computer skills. Then Spencer was called into the conference room, and I, refusing to leave his side in a building full of strange people, was once again handed his laptop to amuse myself. This time, I was given the headphones too, since they didn't want me hearing the gory details of whatever case they were working on. I looked up at the projector screen once and never did it again. I did not want to see more.

Eventually, the windows stopped filling the room with sunshine, and it was time to pack up and leave. I was excited: time to see Spencer's place. There's a lot you can tell about a guy from his home, and I was psyched for the chance to "profile" him they way he, no doubt, had done to me. Not that I minded. By now it must've become second nature to do that to every person he met. Anyways, we made our slow, arduous way to the parking garage, where I was not surprised by the neutral tan sedan Spencer led me to. We didn't talk, we were comfortable in our silence. This was something I was coming to appreciate more and more. I had always been one to lapse into bouts of silence as my mind wandered or raced. With other people, it marked me as weird. With Spencer, it seemed normal. Half the time it seemed like he was doing the same thing. Maybe he was thinking about me. Maybe I should do my best not to care one way or another.

The car was average: not a luxury model, but comfortable nonetheless. There was a half-empty water bottle in the cup holder, and a pair of empty coffee cups in the back. Generally clean, and I expected his apartment would be, too. Either because he wasn't there much, or because one person couldn't make an unreasonable mess. I'd bet it would be untidy but sanitary. It was likely that, since he knew the levels of contamination possible from every item in his household and the likelihood of him becoming ill, he kept in clean. Mess, however, is always to be expected from a person who can get so deep in thought as any genius. I knew all about that, with my 168- definitely above average- IQ. My old room at home was enormous, but managed to be constantly cluttered all the same. Which reminded me- when we got to his house, to remind Spencer to ask Hotch and Emily to send the clothes from my third, first, and sixth drawers, as well as my sneakers and boots.

There was a little pineapple air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. It made me smile. I'd have expected pine fresh, or maybe New Car. This guy always seemed to surprise me. Mismatched socks, blushing, talented lips, and now a thing for the smell of pineapple. I loved it.

Spencer, next to me, had a slight smile on his face and was biting his lip. He was an awful driver. He was obviously distracted by something, and nearly got us killed in a crash when he didn't notice the bright red light. I yelled, "HEY! Red light!" just before he'd have pulled in front of a yellow taxi that was barreling forward, way faster than the speed limit. He jerked his head up, surprised, and slammed on the break.

"I'd appreciate it if we didn't get killed before we got to your house. I mean, I understand if you're a bit embarrassed to have a teenage girl at your place for a while, but that doesn't mean you have to get us put in the hospital," I grouched at him. Until then, I hadn't realized how tired I was. There's a difference between the light sleep of sedatives and exhaustion, and the deep, healing sleep I needed to function the next day.

He glared at me out of the corner of his eye. "I was not getting us killed. I was just distracted. I would've stopped in time."

I mumbled under my breath. "Yeah, in time for us to just break all our limbs..."

He was glaring again. "What did you say?"

I returned the glare with extra venom in my voice. "I said, 'Yeah, in time for us to just break our limbs, instead of dying'. You know, I was a better driver when I was twelve than you are now!"

"Then why aren't you driving? Oh yeah, I forgot, you're ankle's broken and so is your hand! I guess for now you're just going to have to suck it up and deal with my driving!" He'd obviously lost patience.

"Then _you're _going to have to deal with my bitching when you nearly kill us, you- you- you nerdy little brat!" I shouted at him.

"Oh, so _I'm_ the brat?! That's rich!" He pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex and slammed on the breaks. "Take a deep breath, Sera, and count to ten. Then help me get this up to the apartment." He got out and opened the trunk, taking out his messenger bag, laptop case, a few files and my shopping bag with the johnny in it.

I sat in my seat and scowled._ I_ was not the one nearly killing the girl I was supposed to protect! I....

I sighed._ I _was the one being a brat. I shook my head at the dumb way I'd acted, then walked to Spencer, who was at the door of the building, waiting for me. I took my shopping and the laptop case, as his arms were full of files and bag. Then I smiled at him. "I'm such a brat."

"Yeah, you are." He returned the smile. "Sorry for nearly killing us." He took my hand and led me up the stairs, slowly.


	3. Bedtime

Sorry for such a short chapter, I'm really busy. Anyways, more soon, I hope you enjoy!

PS- Yes, I don't own anyone in this. Except Sera. And the UnSub. And whomever else my mind makes....

The apartment was just like I'd expected. Very little decoration, hundreds of books, plain white walls, unmade bed, laundry on the floor, immaculate kitchen and bathroom. The guest bedroom I was in was the only one different: The walls were a light blue, with matching sheets and a thick red quilt. There was a soft rug on the floor, and the room was a bit dusty. Obviously Spencer didn't get many guests. That didn't really surprise me.

I put my pitiful little bag in the nightstand. Spencer had gotten a new toothbrush out of his medicine cabinet for me and let me borrow a big t-shirt to wear to bed. Once that was in my room, I peeled off my dress, socks and shoes piled them on the floor. Then I threw on the t-shirt over my leggings and went to ask Spencer where the washing machine was.

I couldn't find him, at first. The layout of the apartment was unfamiliar, and it was large. There was an extra room he used as a small library, another for casework, his bedroom, a living room, a dining room, a kitchen... I wandered about. I got fed up with it soon, though. The clock on the wall read 10:21. "Spencer?" I called, quietly. "Spencer?"

I heard a little noise from behind the door closest to me. I walked in, and sure enough, there he was, half asleep. Awake enough to know his name, but his eyes were shut, and his mouth was open. He was wearing striped pajamas. It was adorable; he looked like a kitten, funny enough. He had a feline quality that was quite visible as he stretched and opened his eyes. "Mmm, Sera, what?" Someone obviously was having issues with sleep.

I held up my hands full of cloth. "Um, just wondering where the washer is. I don't have anything else to wear till those other two agents get back."

He groaned. "I forgot to show you earlier, sorry. Come on." He walked out off the room, leading me. Strangely enough, he led me back to the library. There was the little laundry station. Detergent, fabric softener, bleach, machines. Even a very old iron and ironing board.

I thanked him and proceeded to do the comfortingly familiar task of laundry, with Spencer prowling the walls for a nighttime read. When I was done, he was asleep on the chair. Which was not good. He'd wake up with a cramp in his neck, and that'd make him grumpy, and he might rethink his decision to keep me here.

I took hold of his hands as well as I could, and started lifting the doctor from the chair, careful not to startle him. I talked soothingly. "Come one, hon, we heave to get you out of this chair. Don't you want to sleep in a warm, comfy bed? That's it. Come on, get up, we'll get you ready for bed. Mhmm, just follow me. Yeah, that's it. Come with me. Now, just get on the bed. Theeeere we go." He was on the bed, lying on his side. His eyes were already shut, but he was mumbling something about "nightmares, don't go, please". "You have nightmares too, hon? Well, I'll stay here then. No, I won't leave. I'll keep the nightmares away. Yours and mine." I sat down on the bed, behind him and started rubbing his back. He let out a little sigh. I smiled. Absolutely adorable. He seemed to be just as broken as me, in his way. I slowly felt the tension leave his muscles, his breath evening out. Have you ever felt someone fall asleep? If you haven't, then trust me, it's the sweetest thing. And it's relaxing. I felt myself drifting off as well. "We'll keep the nightmares away," I murmured, sleepy. "We'll be fine."


	4. Breakfast

A/N- Yeah, I don't own Criminal Minds, and I don't post very regularly either, plus I'm wicked busy at the moment. Hopefully this will be finished by mid-April, but what the story wants, the story gets, so it may take longer. enjoy! And if you like, please review!

Waking up to Spencer was becoming routine.

He'd rolled over in his sleep and was cuddling me again. One of the best wake-ups ever. I hadn't had a single nightmare, neither had he. We slept like the dead. And best of all, it was Saturday. The clock said it was 12:30 am, and I just sighed and snuggled closer to Spencer, enjoying the moment.

_Then_, damn it all to hell, he woke up, jerking away from me. "Why are you in my bed? What happened last night?" he asked, looking totally freaked out. What, was I that unappealing? I toyed with the notion of telling him he'd gotten drunk and we'd had sex. Then I tossed it out the window. "You fell asleep in the library. I woke you up- kind of- and got you in here, and you wouldn't let me leave. You said you had nightmares and wanted me to stay. So I did."

He squinted out the window, looking for an excuse to avert his gaze. He was blushing, a bit, apparently he didn't let people know these things. "Um, thanks, for that. I slept fine."

"So do I. I have nightmares too, but.... none last night."

He looked at me, inquiring.

I sighed. "That whole time I was asleep in the hospital? Before you knew I was awake? I was having nightmares. About what happened... when you got me out of the room, all I remembered was waking up there. But then, when I was asleep, I remembered all of it." My voice hardened. "Everything."

We sat quietly for a while, watching the birds through the window. Eventually he broke the silence. "Once, I was on a case with JJ," he said, still avoiding my gaze, "and we split up. I went around the back of the barn, and she went around the front. We figured, that since it was obvious the UnSub had gotten into the barn, that he couldn't escape." He swallowed. "We didn't know he'd gotten out before we split up." Spencer looked as if he was fighting off tears.

"But he had, and when I went around the back, he hit my over the head. I woke up in his car. He took me to a cabin, and he did things. Awful things......

"He hurt me. He made me pick who he would kill. And he shot me up with Dilauded. That's a-"

"Heroin derivative, I know." I looked away from him, too. "My grandmother died from overdosing on it. It was what she was prescribed... the wrong dose."

Spencer pulled up his sleeve. Track marks lined his inner elbow- the antecubital space. "I had a hard time for a while," he whispered. He pulled the sleeve back down. "I think I have a good idea of what's happening to you." He chanced a quick glance at me from the corner of his eye. I saw it, looked away, and inched my hand towards him shyly.

He waited until my fingertips touched his. My heart was beating a bit faster. Then, he took hold of my hand, and turned my face to his. My eyes were wide, just like his. And...

Our lips touched. By now, my heart was beating out of my chest, and I was blushing. I reached out my broken hand and touched my fingertips to his chest. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I felt his heart beat.

We kissed, slowly and shyly, exploring each other's mouth, face, neck with our hands and lips. The sun shined on my back, warming me, pushing me closer to Spencer in the chilly bedroom. My hand broke away from his to reach his hair, his neck, his back.

Far too soon, we broke apart to breathe. For a beautiful moment, we looked at each other in the sunshine. I memorized his face in my mind: the play of light across his hair, the sudden shine to his eyes that hadn't been there fifteen minutes before. Suddenly, I felt much more comfortable here: At Spencer's house, in Virginia; here, on the bed with a strange man who was no longer a stranger. This was perfection, right here, in a book-covered, slightly dusty apartment twenty minutes away from the FBI headquarters.

We got up for breakfast. I stuck my laundry in the dryer and brushed my teeth while Spencer worked on breakfast. I could smell sausage. By the time the scent reached my room, my mouth was watering.

I waltzed into the kitchen with a yawn, still in my leggings and Spencer's shirt. He was setting the sausages on a plate. "Ooh, that looks delicious." I also saw a carton of milk and a couple boxes of cereal on the counter. Fruit Loops and Frosted Flakes. It was almost like he knew me. Frosted Flakes were my favorite.

I walked behind Spencer and wrapped an arm around his neck. "Cereal and sausage. Your brilliant mind must know how bad this is for you, right?"

He grinned at me. "My brilliant mind doesn't care."

"That's what I like to hear." I grabbed the box of Frosted Flakes and the milk, making a nice, comforting bowl of cereal. It tasted exactly the same way it had- six days ago, actually. It seemed like longer since I'd had a normal breakfast. Spencer placed the plate of sausage on the table, and I noticed it was the deliciously greasy, quick, microwaveable kind. I stabbed one with the fork he passed me and burned my tongue. Once it cooled down, it was great.

Spencer read the paper as I let my mind wander. After a few minutes, I called him out. "I know you don't read that slowly." He set the paper down. "Well, I just wanted you to... you know... have a normal morning. And someone reading the entire paper in six minutes isn't all that normal."

"Aw, damn, six? It still takes me nine." I grinned at the surprised look on his face. "You're not the only genius here. Remember, I'm both seventeen and a junior at Columbia? As in Columbia University?"

"Um, no, I, uh.... I didn't put that together. I.... wow. Nine? Not too bad. As a matter of fact, that's faster than ninety-two percent of the population of both Americas."

I nodded exaggeratedly, showing how much I really did not care. "We need to work on your conversation skills. Usually someone would tell a little story having to do with newspapers, not cite statistics. It would make you a little easier to talk with."

"Well. We'll have plenty of time for that, I'm sure. But for today, I wanted to show you around. You know, make yourself at home. You'll be here for a while. Some cases go unsolved for months, years even. So you'll probably have to stick around for a while. I want you to see all the best of it." His voice was cheerful.

After breakfast, we set out. The "sights" he'd wanted to show me weren't what I'd expected. He showed me a beautiful lake, with sun glinting off of it. There was a tiny bookstore filled with original copies of classics, both American and foreign. Voltaire, Hemingway, Twain, some behind glass cases, some free on the shelves for perusal. It was amazing. We stumbled across a gorgeous little garden, stuck between a pair of convenience stores, a wonderful impossibility. The flowers could not have been getting nearly enough sun, but there they were, bright and proud as any I'd seen anywhere. Every site was small, and the normal pedestrian would not have seen it. But Spencer's eyes had combed the city for every speck of beauty he could. Best of all, he appreciated it with such honest amazement.

We went to a hole-in-the-wall Italian place for lunch, Spencer's favorite restaurant. The owners were actual Italians, and they'd honed their cooking to perfection. As soon as we'd finished our plate, Spencer paid (with a very generous tip) and we walked onward, fingers laced together.

We'd reached that street's crosswalk when Spencer started talking. "Um, would you maybe want to gotothmveeswthme?" The end of the sentence was mumbled and directed at the sidewalk. "Hmm?" I asked.

He took a deep breath. "Do you, would you, maybe, want to go to a movie with me?"

I smiled. "Like a date?"

He looked at me, smiled back. "Yes, exactly like a date. An actual date. Even though I'm not supposed to, you know, do this. With you. Not you, but you as a witness, that's the only issue. But I'm ignoring that, because I-"

I shut him up with a kiss. When we pressed a hand to the small of my back, I broke away. "I'd love to."

Then I got the smile I was looking for. "Do you speak French?" Now I was confused. "Um, yes, I do. What does that have to do with this...?"

The WALK light went green, and we crossed the street. "There's a little cinema two blocks down, and they show French films. Do you want to go there?"

"Only if you promise to get buttery popcorn," I said. I watched him open his mouth, and I cut him off. "Yes, I know there are sixty-nine and a half berjillion calories in it, and it can cause heart attacks and cancer and every other disease on the planet. Popcorn is to me as sausage is to you: my little luxury. 'My brilliant mind doesn't care,' remember?"

He pouted. "I was not going to say that."

"Yes you were. You got that Smartypants McSmug look on your face that everyone knows you get when you're about to start spouting off facts. Even Garcia tunes you out when you put on that face."

"Well. Maybe I was," he allowed. "Let's just go get good seats."


	5. I Like Movies

The movie was a beautifully filmed tragedy. A pair of young lovers had been separated in World War Two, and after the girl had disguised herself as a man and enrolled in her love's platoon, she saw him get shot. The movie ended with them pledging their love as she tried to staunch the flow of blood.

It was definitely sappier than my normal fair, but I enjoyed it a lot. The French seem to have a way of making romance not-cheesy, and Spencer and I were dissecting the movie as we walked home. Our favorite parts, ways it could've been better, how good the acting was and how realistically scripted it was were all we discussed as we walked the 3/4 of an hour back to his house. It was the most fun I'd had in a while.

"Did you see the female lead, did you see her? She must be one of the most gorgeous women alive," I said as he unlocked the door and led me in.

"She was rather attractive, I guess. I didn't really notice." Spencer's mind seemed to be in an entirely different zone as his eyes swept over me, once, twice, three times while tossing his jacket on the chair. I took a few steps towards him. "Earth to Spence? You in there?"

He closed the distance between us in two strides of his long legs, pulling me into his arms and looking down at me. "I'm here," he whispered. Then he captured my lips with his.

It was different this time, still sweet, but with passion in it. I responded, twining arms around his neck and pressing against him. He was warm and he was not thinking at all, obviously. It was wonderful. A soft heat prodded at my lips and I opened to it. He tasted like mint and popcorn and something else, something that was uniquely_ Spencer_. His arms wrapped around me with more force, one hand sliding to the small of my back, then trailing a finger up my spine. I shivered and let out a small, pleased whimper between our mouths. I ran a hand through his hair, tugging a strand here and there. Spencer gave a similar noise to the one I'd just made.

His lips trailed to my ear, where he whispered, "She wasn't much, compared to you."

I smiled and made a line of kisses down his neck, ending in a few small, firm nips to his chest that he let me know he liked. I unbuttoned his shirt. Slowly. Carefully. Unsurely.

Spencer stayed my hands. "Are you sure? Is this okay?"

I closed my eyes, gathering my resolve. I wanted this. I wanted a good memory to replace the bad. "Yes," I sighed. He let my hands continue their work as he kissed me senseless.

I pulled Spencer's shirt off and pulled away from him to look. I was not disappointed. Smooth, creamy, pale skin over those long, wiry muscles tall men seem to always have. He was peppered with small scars here and there, no doubt mostly normal ones that people accumulate over the course of a lifetime. There was an appendectomy scar that seemed to be begging me to taste it, and I obliged. Mmm, delicious skin, and the same for the moan the sensation elicited.

"W-wait, just second," he mumbled. I stood up. "Yes?" He kicked off his shoes and socks, pulled off mine as well. And the leggings. My ankle's cast was still a bright white, and the bruises on my legs were mostly healed up. Thanks to Nair, I didn't have to worry about fuzz, and they were their usual pale color. Funny enough, in all that had happened, my toenail polish was still its obnoxious, chip-free bright purple. Acceptable.

"We good?" I asked, pushing him onto the couch, not bothering to move his coat. A pair of lips on my neck affirmed that we were. I shivered and traced a path with my finger all across his face. So smooth... My hand trailed down his chest, raising goosebumps. No belt. Black dress pants. Very chic, very professional, very easy to unbutton. I tugged at the soft cloth and cold metal button.

"Ah!" I let out a noise of surprise as his mouth moved to the hollow of my neck. I felt the smile against my skin, and I slipped a leg across his lap to press closer to him. He pulled my lips back to his, and we intertwined. I begged the night not to end.

The call came at midnight. We were in the master bedroom, naked under the sheets, whispering to each other whatever passed through our minds. I was lazily half-asleep, just hoarding all the happiness I'd been given. I didn't want to give it up. I was about to say as much to Spencer- _my_ Spencer- when the phone rang.

I answered it, hoping to get whomever it was off the phone as fast as I could. "Hello?"

"This is Agent Hotchner. May I please speak with Agent Reid?"

Dammit. The one call he'd have to take.

"Here he is." I let my displeasure seep into my voice. Agent Hotchner, moment-ruiner extraordinaire. I handed the phone off.

Spencer moved as if to leave. I laid on top of him, back to the ceiling, barring him from motion. He was trying to listen to Hotch, but I decided to make that hard as possible.

I knew it was working when his voice came out labored and stuttering. I rubbed against him, trailing my fingers across every inch of skin I could reach, flicking my tongue in his ear.

"Yes, sir, umh, oh God, I'll be there in half an h-h-h-h-hour. Oh, I'm at the- the- the grocery store, yes, the grocery store. That's further away from there than -woah!- my house ir. Is! Is, sir, it's further away than my house is. So we'll be there in half an hour."

He snapped the phone shut.

"So, we have twenty minutes, huh? What will we do with all that time?"

He smiled.

I laid back down.


	6. Damn Pants

A/N: I don't own CM. And I know my plot is wildly un-Reid-like, and I'm sorry! But remember, reviews make better writers. And they make me want to give you imaginary cookies.

_**THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M FOR GORE. IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT, DON'T READ IT. Thank you very much.**_

Almost exactly thirty minutes later, we were at the FBI. Granted, I was wearing pajama pants that I had to cuff four times so as not to trip over them, and Spencer had no vest and was in his slippers, but we were there. Which is what counts, right?

We rushed to the conference room. The morning fun had taken the edge off, but the only reason Hotch would be back in Virginia was if the UnSub had changed venues. That, I was sure, could not be good.

Agent Morgan was waiting outside the conference room with two coffees. "It's not too good in there, Pretty Girl." He frowned. "Reid, do you really think she should be in there?"

"As our only credible witness, it's necessary she be there. First of all, she can tell us whether or not any information we've gathered seems to fit the UnSub. She can also point out any identifying rituals or marks of his. She's a gold mine of information, as well as being able to verify...."

I snuck into the room as Reid kept asserting the value of my presence.

Then I rushed to the trash can and puked.

The projector-screen wall was divided into twenty squares. Each one had a picture of a mutilated, naked female body on it. The last one was mine.

All of the others had them same bloody, scarlet wound stretching from the bottom left of their rib cage to their right hip that I had, but with a reverse of it as well, a large X across the abdomen. Their faces had been covered with bloodless slices of letter that was in the bottom right of their square on the screen, a delicate, scrolling black font. I could barely make out their faces from underneath the incisions marking each square inch of skin. I couldn't tell if they were ugly or pretty, old or young. The tattoo of a "T" I now bore was pictured in my square. And each girl's throat was slit.

I looked closer to my screen. The bruises on my face were nearly gone now- I had always been a fast healer. The cut was still gory, a dark red that still oozed a little blood if I moved less than gingerly. It was bleeding a bit now, as a matter of fact, and I grabbed a few tissues and stuffed them under the bandages. I didn't want to get Dr. Agent Spencer Reid's shirt dirty. I smiled. He might never forgive me if I called him that.

Then I found myself on the floor, on my knees, sobbing. They were all dead, I was almost dead, and I smiled! I laughed! In the same room as their dead faces, I smiled. How could I? They all deserved more respect... They were my peers. My colleagues, too, as some squares had names on the bottom that I recognized. Activism journalists. I had some of their articles printed and tacked onto my corkboard at my house, to look at for inspiration. And they were dead. And I was alive. And I doubted that that was anything even _close _to fair, because I wasn't a better person than them. I went to a frat party and got drunk once, when I was sixteen, a sophomore. Then I drove back to my house and put a huge dent in the garage, which my grandmother paid for. I took advantage of people. Why did I get to live when these women didn't? I leaned against the desk and kept crying. I wouldn't be able to help them now. And I wouldn't be able to help the FBI, either, I'd bet. Someone would get hurt, and it would be my fault.

I listened to the room as the tears fell silently and I berated myself for acting this way. The least I could do was put on a strong face and _try_ to help....

"No, Reid. Let her be. You know how this can affect people- what happened to her, seeing the worst that could have happened. Just let her work through it." The voice that spoke was deep, and came from the slightly short man with the dark, thick hair. He seemed to have a bit of an accent, almost a light Brooklyn accent. It was homey. I heard the little squeak of a chair as someone- probably Spencer- sat down. Then I heard a defeated sigh from the same area and knew it was him.

Feet came into the room, wearing heels that clicked on linoleum of the hall and were silent on the beige carpet. I felt the feet move towards me, and I opened my (no doubt puffy) eyes to see a pretty woman with a thin mouth and dark hair. She spoke. "Hey, hon. You okay? No? I didn't think so," she said when I shook my head. "You want to get out of here a minute?"

I nodded and whispered. "I'm sorry. I don't know what... I didn't mean to lose it like that. I must seem ridiculous."

She shook her head and lead me into the hallway. I squeezed Spencer's hand as I walked out. The woman shut the door. "No, you don't. I think I'd do the same thing if I didn't see all this so much. But, even for us, this is brutal." She extended a hand. "Emily Prentiss, FBI. Call me Emily. You must be Ms. Ortiga?"

I shook her hand. "Yeah, that's me. You can call me Sera though. You were in New York, right? With the tall guy, Agent..."

"Aaron, Aaron Hotchner. Yep, we were there till about nine-thirty tonight. Actually," Emily looked at her watch, which read 12:47, "last night, technically. We have your clothes, by the way, I'll give them to you after the meeting."

Relief. I was scared of tripping over these pant legs and falling down the staircase, breaking more of my body. I thanked her and told her as much. (Don't get me wrong, tall men are nice. Wonderful, as a matter of fact. But wearing their clothes is just fraught with peril when you're as clumsy as me.) She laughed.

"Um, how long will the meeting be? And what do I have to do?" I asked.

"Well, we never know how long the meetings last. It'll probably be longer than usual, because we have you to point out whatever's wrong with our theories.

"See, our job is just like being a sketch artist for the police. The only difference here is that we make a picture of the person's mind, not their face. From statistics and past cases, we can tell people the most likely characteristics of the perpetrator. We can tell if they're probably white, or black, what level of education they have, what kind of job they have, their motive for doing whatever it is they've done, how dangerous it will be to apprehend them, if they're likely to commit suicide if faced with imprisonment. All of these things help us catch the bad guy, see? Because we can tell the police if they need a SWAT team with them to take the person down, we can narrow down the list of suspects. Most of the time, we our group's profiles are incredibly accurate. And that's mostly thanks to your boy Reid."

I opened my mouth to deny it, but was cut off. "Sera, JJ had to tell me. I owe her twenty bucks now. Plus, did you think Garcia would keep her mouth shut? She likes you, and she likes you with him. She's so happy I'm surprised she hasn't thrown Reid a "congratulations for finally getting a girlfriend!" party."

I grimaced. Not what I wanted to hear. "Well, um, I'm glad she's okay with it, but... I'm not naive. I know this could get him in trouble, so... could you maybe get her to tone down the enthusiasm?"

"I don't think anyone can get Penny to tone down her enthusiasm."

I sighed. "Okay. What do I have to do in the meeting?"

Emily patted my shoulder a bit. Why were these people so touchy-feely with a rape victim? Not that I minded it. It was kinda comforting. "All you have to do is tell us if our profile of this bastard matches what you got of him. For example, if Hotch says that the perp is a narcissist, and you think he seemed more like a man who thought he was on a morally correct mission, you just raise your hand and say so. If someone says they think the guy isn't well educated, but he spoke like he was, just do the same thing. Raise your hand and tell them you think they're wrong. They won't be mad, and they might not change their idea, but they'll definitely take yours into consideration."

I nodded. It didn't sound too hard. "Okay," I said. "Let's go in."

A/N: Ooh, almost cliffhanger-y there. If you want more, just press the button and review. My fingers will hit the keys faster, I promise.


	7. Nodding Off

A/N: -presents all who reviewed with imaginary cookies-. Reviews still make better writers. Oh yeah, I also don't own the show Criminal Minds. If I did, there'd be less death and more sex. End A/N.

Emily opened the door and led me to a chair with it's back facing the wall of victims. Very tactful of her. I smiled and sat. Spencer moved next to me and took hold of my hand.

Across the table, Aaron Hotchner was standing, a thick folder in his hands. He surveyed the room and curtly nodded. From the way everyone responded- by straightening and looking more attentive- I could tell that this signified the official beginning of the meeting.

"As you know, this unknown subject has been being investigated and tracked by the FBI for months. Known as the Letter Opener, he is now in the public eye. As JJ advised"- here JJ nodded at Hotcher- "we have not released a description to the press. For the moment we need to make him feel as though we aren't on to him.

"This man is most likely from a community intolerant of differences. He may have been bullied or abused throughout his childhood. He feels powerless in many areas of his life, and there is probably someone in his life- likely a female- who has control over him, which she abuses. This makes it very difficult or impossible to have close relationships with women, and it could influence him to the point of not being able to interact purely socially with women. He presents a tough, domineering façade to the world, but inside he is insecure. He probably has a low paying, hard labor job that gives him the strength to apprehend his victims."

I interrupted, raising my hand. Hotchner nodded at me. I was getting the idea that nodding was the prime form of communication in these meetings. "Um, he didn't have to be too strong to get me. I had already tripped, broken my ankle, but I don't know what I tripped over. The sidewalk had just been repaved, there weren't cracks or holes. Maybe he set up a trip wire? He told me he'd help me to the hospital. I don't think he takes people by force, because then he'd get hurt, and it could look suspicious, him having cuts or nail marks on him if he doesn't have a girlfriend, or a one night stand."

The tall man nodded. "That could be true. This man has probably been educated to at least a high school level, but has one area of expertise far beyond that. It could be mechanics, writing, mathematics, even psychology. He has enough common sense to be ale to stalk his victims without calling attention to himself, and he researches them beforehand. He integrates himself in the victim's life in an insignificant way before approaching them. He thinks life is unfair to him, and that social interactions are only difficult because of the other people involved. When stalking his victims, he often imagines them becoming close to him romantically. When they don't respond that way when he kidnaps them, it angers him to the point of murder. He justifies their deaths by saying it's what they deserve for helping homosexuals, but he is not anti-homosexuality in reality. He doesn't inebriate himself before the crime."

I raised my hand and was nodded at again. "Why the tattoos? I mean, if he planned on all of us either being dead or loving him, what's with the tattoos? If he knew we were going to be dead, he could just use Sharpie. It's cheaper. And why the fancy font? And why was I T and not S or O?"

Spencer spoke. "I've been trying to figure that out myself. All of the other victims had tattoos that matched one of their initials. You were a higher profile writer than Sally Milstead, the victim for S. It would have made more sense for him to get you- the more influential of the two- out of the way sooner. The tattoos signal the permanency of his act, in his mind.... And as to the font, I don't understand that either. It would be just as effective to use a block lettering, and that would take much less time."

The short man spoke. "I was thinking of that myself, Reid. And I was wondering... could it be a sign of remorse? Not sticking these ladies with an ugly, masculine tattoo but giving them a curly, feminine font? It's like an epitaph on their bodies."

Spencer bit his lip nodding, considering it. "That makes sense. If he's planning on them being his lover, then he wouldn't want them to be mad at him for giving them an ugly tattoo. He could be considering it a bond between them."

"He had the alphabet on his chest. All capitals, all that fancy lettering. All the way to S." I had seen it when he took off his ugly red shirt.

There was a knock on the conference room's door. Being the closest, I opened it. There was a cute little blonde woman there, with great big green eyes and a squeaky voice. "I was told to deliver this to the BAU, miss?"

I was so tempted to say, "Who are you calling Miss? I was taller than you when I was twelve." But JJ had come to the door and picked the creamy, thick, off-white envelope from the woman's hands. "Thank you, Sandy. Bye!" JJ said cheerfully, and she shut the door in Sandy's face. "Oh my God, she's got to have the most annoying voice in America", JJ mumbled. I knew I wasn't supposed to have heard, but I laughed anyway.

She flipped the envelope over and turned white. I took it from her and turned it over.

In stark black ink on the thick paper were four words.

"_To my darling T._"

A/N: Button clicking= love.


	8. No One Likes A Tease

(AN: Time for a wee bit of dirty fun.)

I stared at the envelope a minute more, confused. How the hell did he know I was _here?_ And why did he think I would ever let him scare me again? Prying open the letter, I turned to Morgan. "Um, could you call Sandy back? I think you all will want to talk to her." There was a letter inside, on heavy, expensive paper, the kind people have wedding announcements printed on.

_I've missed you. You were the only one who left me. I think we should start _

_over, meet somewhere. Have dinner, maybe? I know you like Italian. _

_I also know you like a certain Agent Reid. Personally, I think you'd look _

_better with a tan blond. More complimentary to your dark hair and pale skin._

_I left a number with the sweet Sandy at the front desk. Call it. Arrange _

_a meeting. I know you must miss me too. I suggest you call soon. _

_Otherwise, I might do something crazy. "People do crazy things when_

_they're in love." I know that's your favorite movie. Funny, a genius_

_preferring Disney over Broadway. I think that's adorable. _

_Always yours,_

_Jonas._

The signature had a flourish of enormous proportions. It looked ridiculous, like a fifth-grade boy writing his crush a poem in loopy letters. The rest of the letter was printed in the same crisp, dark ink as the envelope.

The letter was very revealing. I felt like a profiler myself as I combed it for clues. He knew I liked Italian- not hard to figure out. I ordered Italian every Friday night at home, and Spencer and I had gone to the little Italian place yesterday. He knew I liked Reid, which led me to the conclusion that he was either watching me in the hospital or had come to Virginia. _I know you must miss me too_- a clear sign of some sort of delusion that I was in a relationship with him, or that he was the kind of guy anyone would want. He referred to Spence as almost friendly competition, and didn't seem to be forcing me to pick him over Spencer. He just assumed it would happen if we met, which was why he was so adamant about us meeting. Threatening to do something crazy sounded like something a teenager would do. That showed something of his emotional development, that he would teasingly suggest how awesome he was and, in the next breath, threaten me if I didn't cooperate. He could have found out my favorite movie by visiting any of my online profiles. Hercules was the best movie ever, and Meg was my favorite Disney character. That just supported the "stalking" element of the profile.

I said as much to Hotchner, who'd appeared at my side to read the letter as well. He came to the same conclusions I did, which made me feel pretty brilliant. I still didn't like him being that close to me, however, so I edged towards Morgan. Morgan was in his "comfort the girl (in hope of play)" mode, even though he wouldn't trespass on Reid's territory. It was just how he was. "You alright, Pretty Girl?" he asked, putting his hands on my shoulders. "Not too scared?" He looked into my eyes, concerned. "I'm fine," I told him, still looking at his eyes. Damn, they were pretty. I gave him a big smile and gave the letter to Spencer, who I sat on the table in front of, legs crossed.

"Apparently, someone thinks you've got competition," I told him as he scanned the paper. "It doesn't matter if he does as long as you don't," he muttered, mind still unraveling the words for something I hadn't gotten out of them. He'd listened to my interpretation when I'd told Hotch.

It was really, really hard, but I suppressed the urge to slap him. This whole experience had made me very touchy. I satisfied myself by whispering to him. "Yeah, because you know how rapists are totally my type. I mean, especially with the killing? Now _that _gets me really hot." I added a quiet, sighing moan to the end and rolled my eyes back a little, leaning back to give him a bit of a view. Nothing explicit, but... boobs come in handy. He gulped, turned a little red, looked around the room to make sure no one had heard. He didn't see Garcia, who was standing behind him, laughing silently. Spencer leaned forward and whispered back. "If you're going to do that, I'm going to... to..."

"Going to sit there and try to figure out what you can get away with doing to me at work? It is a little warm in here. Or maybe it's just that clear danger that's getting to me. You know," I said, leaning closer and nearly kissing his ear, "sex is very life affirming."

There was practically steam coming out of his pants. The poor thing, everyone said he was totally out of his depth when it came to girls, and I was using it against him. His face was pink and he was biting his lip, and I had no doubt he was very, very grateful the table was there. It was all I could do not to laugh. He loosened his tie a bit. I started to feel a little bit bad, teasing him this way, but he'd suggested I might have a thing for a murderous rapist. So I took the guilt in my mind, imagined it far, far away, and enjoyed seeing how flustered he was. Garcia was nearly on the floor in paroxysms of giggles.

Just to prove my point, I reached a hand slowly, unhurriedly, below the table, where he'd dropped the letter. It was right on his lap. I stared him in the eyes the whole time... pinched the letter between my fingers... just barely grazed his thigh with my hand.

And then promptly started laughing along with Garcia, because it was so obvious how much he was suffering from this, and I'd done barely anything! He looked at me with an expression of mingled anger, confusion and lust. I doubled over, clutching my stomach as I hooted with giggles. "Sorry, sorry!" I choked out as I tried to stop. I didn't want to split my stitches. By now the entire room was just staring at the three of us- Spencer so obviously pissed off, Garcia almost passed out from lack of oxygen, and me chuckling as I apologized for God-knew-what. No one asked why we were laughing. I think they knew they were better off not knowing.

Gradually, Garcia and I regained control of ourselves. She gave me a high-five and winked, then announced that no one had been born under the name Jonas Vickers in America since 1924. "And my word as Tech Goddess is final!" Garcia said when Hotch suggested her search results weren't right. "There is no one on the planet more technologically advanced than me. And you, gorgeous though you are, will not contradict me," she said, pointing at Spencer. He'd been about to say something to prove her wrong, no doubt. "I'm sure there's something else you could be dealing with instead of arguing with me," Garcia told him, grinning wickedly. He turned yet another shade of red and shut his lips. His soft, delicious, utterly biteable lips.... Hmm. Maybe my payback had backfired. The last time I had seen him such a shade of embarrassment was on the phone with Agent Hotchner earlier... which had been... pleasurable, to say the least.....

I shook my head and tried to focus. It was by no means easy.


	9. Friends, Sex and Gossip

(AN: Slight Rossi/JJ, since I think they'd be so cute together.)

I shook my head and tried to focus. I handed the letter off to Hotchner, who seemed to have gotten a clue as to what was going on, something almost like amusement in his expression as he accepted the paper. He went to go find someone to analyze the handwriting of the signature.

The man with the dark hair came to the end of the room where Spence and I were silently facing off. He seemed relaxed, like a sleepy panther. I had no doubt that in the field, he was someone to be reckoned with, but at the moment he seemed more like a ladie's man than an FBI agent. It was all in the posture. He turned to me, smiling, and I slid off the table to stand. "I don't think we've been introduced yet," he said, offering a hand. "I'm David Rossi, FBI." We shook.

"I'm Serena Ortiga, no initials necessary." He chuckled. "Call me Sera."

"Only if you call me Dave, okay? We all want to make you comfortable here."

"Well, I'd be a little more comfortable if I knew more about these people." I waved my hand, indicating the whole room. Reid had taken a small notebook out of his bag and was writing furiously.

"That's no problem. The tall guy in the suit, he's Agent Hotchner. He's the boss. Then there's JJ, the cute blonde in the skirt? She does media relations. She knows when we should go public with information, how much we should tell, what networks to leak to or give press conferences on. Great at her job." _Aww,_ I thought. _The panther has a thing for the kitten._ JJ did seem kind of like a kitten, all wide eyes and cuteness. But again, she wouldn't be here if she couldn't take care of herself. Like kittens, where if you weren't careful, you'd forget how sharp their claws were. These people were very complex.

"Next to her is Morgan, the guy with the sunglasses in his hand. He's our specialist in obsessional crime, and our professional door-kicking-in-er. Then there's the dark haired woman, Emily, who I believe you met earlier. Last, but not least, there's our many-times-over-Doctor Spencer Reid, expert in everything except the fairer sex."

Spencer didn't look up from the notebook he was writing in, but made some noise under his breath. I happened to know that he _was _an expert in the fairer sex, in an anatomical sense, which definitely had come in handy.

_Focus, Sera. Focus. _I smiled awkwardly. I had no clue what to say... the only way I could see to dispute him was my usual smartass denial, which would point to our relationship. Whatever it was. And if I didn't, I'd feel bad. Lucky for me, Morgan seemed to have a built in damsel-in-distress locator, and he wandered over at just the right moment.

"Aw, come on, Rossi. I doubt you have a little lady this pretty sleeping at your place," he said, smiling and elbowing Dave a little. I mouthed him a _thank you_ when Rossi looked away. Morgan grinned at me. "Sera, you got yourself settled in with Reid?"

I smiled. "Um, yeah, I have. He's got a pretty guest room, it's all blue. And an enormous library! It's amazing. He's got all the classics, plus the best science fiction you can find today! He's got all the _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy _books, which are my favorite, and plenty of fantasy too, Tolkein, C.S. Lewis, Ursula K. LeGuin, T.H. White, Susan Cooper, Terry Brooks, and of course all sorts of literature on psychology, which I've been planning on studying once I finish my journalism degree-"

"Woah, Pretty Girl, we get it. You like books." I blushed. I could get very overenthusiastic when it came to books. "Looks like Reid's got himself the perfect.... roommate." He winked.

"You like Tolkein?" Spencer asked, looking up from his notebook.

"Yeah, the first book I ever read in one sitting was _The Hobbit_."

"That one was always my favorite. My mother read it to me."

"Isn't that the best way to understand a story? You get more out of it when you hear someone else speaking the words."

He smiled. "It's the inflections, it can give each sentence a whole new meaning."

"Exactly!" I beamed at him. I had tried so many times to explain that to people, but no one ever understood. "Did you ever read- or hear- A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L'Engle?"

"Yes! Mrs. Whatsit was my favorite character."

"Well, I'll tell you a secret. When I was little, I had a crush on Calvin O'Keefe."

"Alright, sorry to interrupt the book club, but we need someone to interview Sandy. Reid, you see her more often. Would you? She's a little shaken up, now that she knows she met a murderer," Hotch said.

"Um, yes sir. She's.... where, exactly?" Spencer asked.

"In the waiting room near the first interrogation room, Morgan will bring you there." It was a definite dismissal.

"Bye, Spencer," I said with a little finger-wave. He blushed and waved back self-consciously as he left the room.

As soon as he left, Emily and JJ were next to me. "That was adorable!" JJ squealed, obviously excited.

"Um, I guess..." I left off awkwardly. I wasn't used to gossiping about boys, I had left that to the popular bimbos at college. "Don't you two have to be doing some work, or something?"

Emily smoothly intervened, de-awkwardizing the situation. "Nope, Hotch is waiting for the handwriting analysis to come back, then we need to get a sketch artist in here to talk to you and Sandy, and Rossi and Morgan are going to debate the thought of telling Virginia we have a serial killer. In the meantime, it's our sworn duty as females to wring you dry of all gossip concerning the boyfriend." She smiled in a predatory manner. I did not feel safe.

"Uh, okay... what gossip?" Being grades ahead of all females my age had left me social inept. It was a bit strange for these full-grown women to be so intent on befriending me. I didn't mind. I just wasn't used to it. Plus, they were FBI agents acting like teenagers. I guess that's what gossip does to people.

JJ smiled again. "Oh, you know, the important stuff. Why you two clicked so fast, where you two were today- oh, don't be mad! There are policemen stopping by the apartment every few hours. We knew Reid took you somewhere. Why you two were late for the meeting." Her eyes narrowed in a teasing way.

"Well, he took me on a--a tour, I guess that's what you'd call it. All of the pretty things within walking distance. There was this gorgeous lake, a flower garden, and an amazing Italian restaurant. Then we went to the movies."

Emily raised her eyebrows. "Boy Genius is smooth! Who knew he had it in him. What movie did you see?"

"La guerre de l'amour." JJ looked a bit blank. Emily, however, nodded and filled her in.

"The War of Love. It's been playing at the foreign cinema downtown." She frowned. "You speak French?"

I tucked my hair behind my ear. "Yes. Italian, Spanish, and Russian too. I'm a genius. Not quite to the same degree as Spencer, and I don't have an eidetic memory, but I am. My specialty is language and the mind, things like that. The intangibles. When it comes to math and science, the solid stuff, I'm nearly learning impaired compared to the rest of my mind." I chewed on my lip, looking between Emily and JJ. It had been nice to maintain the illusion of having friends for a few minutes, but, like everyone else, they'd learn the extent of my intelligence, get scared, and back off.

JJ nodded. "That explains why you two got together so fast. You can understand each other, the way we don't."

"Makes sense," Emily said. Then the predatory smile came back. "So, why were you two late? You couldn't have _forgotten_."

I felt my face flush the reddest it could and I kept my lips shut. The two women exchanged wide-eyed glances, mouths agape.

"He really _is _smooth," JJ muttered. Then, a bit louder, "or you're _really_ into the sexy-geek look."

I turned redder, though I had doubted it was possible. "Maybe both?" I whispered, daring to smile.

"Well, JJ, I think a congratulations is in order. Reid finally lost it."

I was confused. "What do you mean? He's not crazy. I mean, I know I'm not ugly and I'm not completely unappealing."

"No, no! That's not what I meant at all, hon," she said, sounding very much like my mothers. "I meant IT. Lost IT. IT being a euphemism for his... innocence."

I clapped a hand to my mouth. "You've got to be kidding me."

Both women shook their heads.

I was astonished. "Are you sure? How did you find out he still... had it?"

"It's all in his movement. By how stiff his posture is, by the way he acts around women, by the look in his eyes when he watches a pretty girl walk by.... but now he's all loose. Well, as loose as Reid can get. Relaxed," JJ said.

"Um. Wow. I would not have ever, ever guessed that."

"Oh?" Emily said. "Now, what do you mean by that?"

The flush that had faded off returned. "I... didn't think... um... It was..... not.... unsatisfactory." That was about as clear as I could get. I saw JJ's and Emily's expressions, however, waiting for more. I thought my face would explode from all the blood in it when I whispered "Well, it was incredible sex, and I didn't think he was a virgin since he was so amazing in the sack." Then I smiled. I was a ballsy little thing tonight. The blush faded. Being determined not to be afraid of anything was working in my favor.

Emily gaped again, and JJ fell into a chair laughing. Occasionally words could be heard. "Reid.... wow...."

I sat back down on the table and smiled at Hotchner. He raised one eyebrow at me and I waved. He smiled.

_I like it here,_ I thought. _And I seem to be fitting in just fine, for once. _


	10. The End

(AN: Okay. I got sick of writing this. Casefics aren't my thing, so here's what happened: They find the dude who raped Sera, and she and Reid happen to be closest to where he is. He's the paranoid type when not actually in the act of killing or taunting, so they have to get someone there ASAP. Reid tries to reason with him, but he's having none of it. The team shows up, he snaps, and.....)

I've read about grief before, a hundred thousand times. In fiction books, in my basic psychology course, in health class. But no one ever tells you what it feels like to watch the only person you really, truly love die while you're pretty much A-okay if you forget about the bruises.

I watch him fall to the floor with a trickle of blood coming from his mouth, and I can still hear the echoing crack of the bullet leaving the gun. Then I realize that second crack wasn't a reverberation but it was someone else shooting the man who just did that to Spencer. I want more that anything to run over to him, to check his pulse and tell him I love him and that everything's gonna be fine, even though it won't, but I can't because If I do I have to hold him till he dies and I have to be the first to know he'll never come back and be the first to tell everyone else that this is entirely, wholly, completely, one hundred percent the last time anyone will ever hold him, and I can't do that, I can't, so I stay rooted to the spot while my legs shake and my heart pounds and the bruises all over me throb and ache just like my heart's going to for the rest of my life. I should move, and tell him I love him, or at the very least just whisper it to the air and hope that there is a God who, when Spencer shows up (because you can't go to Hell if you give up your life for someone else, right?), will tell him that for me, because it's what he needs to know, that even if I'm a weak, weak person, that I love him with all of my heart and that no one else will ever, ever be able to replace him.

Nothing feels like it's going in slow motion, it all feels like it's happening just the same rate as before but the adrenaline is affecting my already impressive cognitive skills as I watch the scene play out before my like a movie. I know I'll remember it all, forever. Like it's not real. Like I'll leave the theater and it will just have been an interlude but deep in my heart and soul I know that I'm breaking. Because he's going to take the best of me with him when he goes. Not the whiney, insecure part but the strong, proud, fun part. And he deserves to have it.

JJ drops her gun to the floor and runs to him, tearing up at the sight of the blood at the edge of his lips. She cries to him, _Reid, Reid,_ I know that's what she's saying but I don't hear it. All I hear is my blood rushing through my veins. Rossi stands dazed, unable to believe. Hotchner sinks to the floor. Morgan calls Garcia, who can get an ambulance here faster. Emily stands behind me, prepared to catch me, I think, if I pass out. But I don't. I just watch the scene blur as my eyes fill with tears.

And then the wall between me and the rest of the room breaks, and I rush towards him. Shallow, labored breaths puncture the air around him, his own. I pull him onto my lap, resting his head on my knee. The hole in his shirt, in his _chest,_ is a dark, rosy red color, the same color as the leather binding the book he was reading three nights ago on the couch. His eyes are open and he looks at me like a kid looks at the Christmas presents under the tree. Pure delight, that smile. He doesn't seem to realize the pain he's in.

"Hey," he rasps. I smile back, try to keep the tears from falling. I kiss the blood off his mouth. "Hey," I say.

"I love you. A lot. You know that, right?"

A tear escapes. "Yeah, I know. I love you too. You're irreplaceable."

He smiles weakly. "I was right. You _can_ be sweet. Alert the press!" he says, waving one hand, trying to look normal.

JJ smiles at that. "I'll arrange a press conference, if you promise to be the speaker, Reid."

"Okay," he says, nodding agreeably, and that scares me more than anything. Spence hates public speaking. I hold his hand and keep my smile in place. He gives it a quick squeeze. "I'm going to be fine," he whispers, his eyelids halfway shut. I hear a siren in the distance, the ambulance. Probably with a police escort.

"I know you are, Spence," I lie. "Just rest. We'll get you patched up."

He nods, and his eyes close. He trusts me.

So quietly I don't think he hears me, and I know JJ won't, I whisper to him.

"Goodbye."

Then again.

"I love you."


End file.
